The Black Mask
by AlixUnmasqued
Summary: In Erik's madness, he believes another young girl, Clara, to be Christine. Imprisoning her, Clara is confused on what to do. Tell him her true identity would surely bring death, but what about when he finds out the truth on his own?


-1_Author's notes:__ I worked a while on this one. I'm struggling to become more descriptive, but I don't know if I succeeded in this chapter. Please review, good or bad, I grow from them._

(of Madness)

Beneath the Opera House, through the dim catacombs, a weeping Phantom, disfigured and wretched, shook in agony. His poor, sunken eyes gushed with tears. His unnaturally long fingers hid the two punctured holes where a human nose should have been on his face. Chastising himself in his foolishness, he pulled out a good proportion of what little of his straggly dark hair that he had left upon his death-head. In misery, he slunk further in the deep crimson chair, howling out with despair, unaware of the soft rapture that echoed from outside. Idiotically, he had let his one and only love leave with another man, a fop no less. The other man could not give her everything that Erik could give her and yet he had let her go into his arms. Thinking of Christine, an image of her twisted visage came to mind when she had first peered at his face, unmasked. Suddenly he felt exposed to unseeing eyes in his room and placed his hands completely over his face. He hadn't put the mask back on since Christine left. He had been too occupied in his misery to even care for the time being, but now it was somehow needed that he put it back on. He seemed required to cover his disfigurement. Blindly searching through bitter tears, he groped around for a mask to cover the deformity that cursed him since the beginning of his abominable life.

The familiar smooth, black leather skimmed across his fingertips, slowly he picked it up, placing it correctly over his warped face of thin, yellow skin that allowed all to see each singular vein, distinctly. Masking himself, he stood straight, hearing a noise that had been unheard to him during his period of wailing. The clatter of chains and cranking vibrated through the solid stone walls. It could only be the secret entrance to his lake house. _What pitiful being found it's way here? Who disturbs a creature in mourning? _Tightening his grip around the thick rope and with a flick of his cape, he dissolved into the darkness. Soon, the meddlesome mortal would have the Punjab constricted around his snooping throat.Erik was unaware that this intruder was only a girl.

Clara accidentally discovered the hidden contraption that allowed her entrance into this mysterious, dark place. She had been in her boat when it abruptly rocked back and forth, throwing her off. When she had rose back to the surface, leaning against some rocks, the boulder seemed to move at her weight and there, the way was revealed to her. Being the prying seventeen year old that she was, she could only succumb to her eager temptations, tiptoeing inside with not even a candle for light. Her slender hands brushed over the cool, rock walls, guiding her about, deeper and deeper, closer and closer to Erik's hideaway. Waist deep in freezing water, she shivered and sighed in relief when the ground seemed to rise, the water lowering as she continued. Now out of the water she still was soaked, her skirts clinging to her every move, the cold nipping at her each little stride. The gentle patter of dripping water could be heard echoing through the mystifying tomb and as she drew closer a faint flicker of light caught the teenager's attention. She drew in a sharp, silent breath, _Could someone else also be down here? _Quietly, on nimble feet, she scampered closer, watching for another person to appear. Concealing herself behind a column, she peered around the corner where the faint light was, surprised to find a highly decorated room in her presence.

Gazing at it through the dim light of several candles, she was lured into the room by its magnificent beauty, her eyes wide in amazement. Candles were sprinkled about, but only a few lit, and the long, elegant candlesticks that they stood upon were frosted with gold. Faintly, an organ was made out, white blobs scattered on top only to be paper with music notes scribbled on them. To the left of the dark organ was a brown desk, also with paper pouring off of it. Coming closer to examine the notes, a shadow passed by her. Turning her head abruptly in awareness, she felt as if it had gotten cooler. Rubbing her hands together, she tried to get warmer. A foul odor became noticed and she dared not move. It was the smell of death, the scent of rotting flesh. Now she could tell she was not welcomed here. Sharply, Clara turned to flee in fright only to bump into a sturdy body. She screamed in terror, falling back onto the stone floor, her arms flying up as a shield.

Gaping at the looming figure, she could make out two golden eyes in the darkness. Those two glowing orbs staring back down at her as well. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for her sudden, sure death to come, but nothing came and she slowly opened her eyes to see the shadow, wavering. The rope fell from his fingers, slowly he collapsed to the floor with it, embracing the girl. Clara's eyes widened at the sudden, loving touch. Wrapped in this man's arms she got an even bigger whiff of the unpleasant aroma that came from him. She tried not to gag so that she didn't offend him. The man heaved up sobs, his head buried in the crook of her neck. Innocently, she smoothed the man's dark hair back as she used to do her little brother when he would come to her in tears.

Erik couldn't contain his agony as he saw the familiar hazelnut curls. He was overjoyed and yet pained at the sight of her. _She has returned to her dear Erik._ He wretched in sobs on Christine's shoulder, unaware of what else to do. How he had waited for this moment of her return, but deep inside his genius knew she wouldn't come back. And yet here she was. His beautiful angel, here in his arms. "Christine…Christine…" He moaned through tears, his hand running through her chocolate locks.

Clara straightened at the name. This man thought she was someone else. Troubled, she didn't know if she should correct him or stay silent. Contemplating, she thought of the consequences each way would bring her. If she confessed she was only Clara he would surely strangle her with that Punjab that still rested by his side. If she stayed silent her life would be spared for now. Either way she chanced her life and she did not want to die so soon in her adolescent life. She kept quiet as the man continued to weep. The man stirred, raising his head to stare into her terrified, coffee-colored eyes. No recognition of the intruder flickered in the man's glistening, saddened eyes.

His rough, freezing hand grazed against her silky cheek, making her want to recoil at the contact, but she refused to show such fear. Peering closer at his face, she noticed the outline of the black mask that veiled almost his whole face, only allowing sight of his trembling, bottom lip and his masculine chin. His black hair was disheveled and chunks seemed to be missing. It looked as if this poor man had been through a lot in his years. His piercing gaze never left hers and it almost seemed as if her cover was already blown, but when he helped her up she knew she was just worrying.

Erik gripped Clara's hand, guiding her away from the music room. He glanced every few seconds behind his shoulder, afraid that his angel would once again disappear. It felt as if his eyes never left Clara as he tugged her to another room. Nervously, she followed without withdrawing as they entered complete darkness. No candle lights guided their way, but the man seemed to move with ease in the dark. Helpless, Clara clutched the man's hand a little tighter. Erik smiled at the gesture and once again looked back at Christine. In the pitch black, he could make out her slender form and bothered look placed upon her radiant face. Erik assumed that it was from the dark that consumed them. "We're almost there." Erik whispered. Clara was startled by the sudden voice and how sweet it sounded. It was the first thing he has said to her without having tears behind the words. Clara didn't know if she should reply or not so she continued to be silent, holding his hand.

A faint light came from a candle that Erik lit in the room and Clara took in her surroundings. It appeared to be a bedroom for a women, considering the dresser covered with makeup and other feminine items. The queen sized bed, resting in the middle of the room, was wrapped in deep lavender sheets which seemed odd as she remembered the décor in the other room. The walls were stone, the ceiling high. She sensed eyes upon her again and glimpsed over to see the man in full light now as more candles were lit around him. The man towered over her and she noticed how thin he was as his clothes loosely clung to him. The black mask still was placed upon his face, his golden eyes staring down at her through the holes in the fabric.

"I thought you would like to come to your room. You look tired." He whispered, still intimidating. She nodded, looking at the bed. Clara was tired. Her sleepiness seemed to drown her at that moment and she realized just how sleepy she was. The man seemed to glide over to the bed with his long, thin legs. Pulling the covers back for her caringly, he gestured for her to come over. Dragging herself to the menacing man, she sat on the mattress, refusing to look up at him, frightened of his eyes that could penetrate her soul. Slipping underneath the blankets, she rested her head on the soft pillows. The warmth was welcoming and she closed her eyes, forgetting about the man that still loomed over her fragile body.

Erik watched Christine as she drifted into sleep. Her face eased of all emotions except for serenity and he smiled. His angel was again in his life, in her room. His living wife was here. His fingers traced the outline of her sleeping features, her skin smooth to the touch. Maybe Erik wouldn't have to be alone for the rest of his miserable life. Quietly, he exited the room, closing the door behind him and retracing his steps, back into the music room.

Sitting on his bench, leaning over the organ, he lightly tapped at the keys, music poured from his mind. Writing the notes down quickly as they came it seemed that his inspiration was back. His music had returned along with Christine. His heart felt as if it was going to implode at the sight of her. His breath caught at the thought. He hadn't expected her to make another arrival to this gloomy place though he wished she would. Especially so soon. It had only been three days. Three excruciatingly long days of misery and tears for him. After he had cried on her shoulder he didn't know what to do. He couldn't decide if he should open up his arms once again to his student or show her, make her feel how much agony he had gone through these past days since her absence. While she slept he would have to think on it. He knew no matter how much he wanted her to feel this wretchedness that he had felt, he wouldn't do it. He couldn't bring tears to those big brown eyes.

Massaging his temples, he organized a strategy. He would do everything he thought she would want, but not like a love sick puppy. The Phantom of the Opera was no love sick puppy! Clenching he fists, he thought further. He wouldn't show any affection to her yet he wanted to. He couldn't forget she did leave him. Erik smoothed his hand over the wretched black mask. He hurl it into a fire and watch the fabric wither in the heat, but he was too afraid of what Christine would do now that he had her again. He didn't want to chance another blow of agony if she left. He would never take off this mask. This black mask would be his substitute for skin until he was certain she would not flinch from the sight of his distortion.

His sorrow and delight of Christine's arrival developed a familiar sense of awareness as sweet music filled his soul. Three days without his music. Only the echoing wailing of hurt were present those days. Now this absent music tingled through his fingers, yanking for him to write, to play. Strumming his fingers against the white keys, this pleasure of song vibrated through his body. Serenity overwhelmed the grief stricken Phantom as he continued his melody. _Good will come from this. _He smiled, his lips cracking at the alien motion.

Clara stirred beneath the layers of cloth. Her eyes blinked violently as she tried to adjust to the dim light. A single candle sputtered in the dark corner to her right, resting on a bedside table, giving off the faint light and shadows of the room. Slowly sitting up, pulling back the covers slightly, she examined the room, still in a haze of sleep. Her surroundings were confusing and unknown to her big chocolate eyes as she skimmed around. Remembrance of the night before came to her in sudden waves and she sighed, frustrated. What was she to do now? Was he right outside the door, waiting for her to come out? Flopping on her back once again laying in the bed, she stared up. Her mind did not register one crack in the ceiling though she glared at it long enough to know every single one.

Her thoughts tugged her into another world. One of worry and terror. How should she continue this trickery of hers? She only wanted to save her life. But she knew nothing of the girl she was to pretend to be. How was she to act as someone else when she did not know how? Her face titled toward the items on the dresser. Maybe clues could be given from what this Christine owned. Hopping to her feet in a new mood of hope, she ushered herself over to the objects. A mirror placed on top of the dresser hovered over her in height as she crouched. The first thing that caught her eye was a silver, glimmering. The object appeared alien in the dim light so she brought the candle closer, holding it carefully in her hand. The glow illuminated the table, making the items clear and defined. The shimmer had been from a small oval jewelry box that was over turned, its lid slightly ajar. Slowly opening it, she found nothing inside. Its contents, bare. Closing it back, she gently set it down, the right way this time, feeling like it was almost important to prop it up properly.

Scanning over the dresser, some makeup was scattered around as well along with some small candle sticks with unlit candles. Putting them upright, she lit a few more candles to give more radiance to this gloom. Not much else was on the dresser, which gave no help to Clara's needs of survival against the man who awaited outside. Still holding a candle, she scurried to the massive wardrobe, spying in on the clothes that anticipated her eyes to scan upon them. The dresses inside were of white, pale blues and greens. She wondered if the man had picked out the outfits himself or she did. Her hands felt the smooth texture of the fabric and she pulled out a white dress that glistened in the candlelight. Its seams were perfectly made for a queen and it would have been costly to get something so beautiful. She felt almost ashamed to be touching it with her filthy hands rubbing against it in admiration.

Guiltily, she put the elegant garments back in their appropriate places, shutting the little door closed, to confine the dresses once more. Christine must have been gorgeous, Clara concluded. Only a kind, stunning woman deserved such gifts. But if she was so caring then where was she know? Had she left the man in such a state of misery? Was she the reason for it? _Poor man…_ A stab of pain entered her heart for the shadow in the darkness. A man lived down here, awaiting his beauty in these dismal catacombs. He thought she had come back, but Clara was only pretending to save her life. Aching in her heart, she wished she had never ventured down into this dungeon.

She scavenged through the entire room, finding nothing of significance. With a sigh of defeat, her feet hesitantly meandered to the aging door of escape. Placing her ear against the cool wood, she listened for any approaching noises. Nothing. Nothing seemed to be happening outside. All was silent. Slightly the door eased open with a twist of the knob and she poked her head out into the darkness. Squinting, only a faint flicker of light was visual off in the distance. The light almost appeared to be floating in the blackness. Nervous, Clara cautiously stepped upon the stone floor, into the hall. One hand gripped her dress, reassuringly, and the other, groping around as she tried to retrace her steps.

In the music room, the single candle sputtered in solitude upon the organ's top. The soft glow drawing her closer. Clara was so transfixed by the small luminescence that she didn't even notice the man. Only if she had taken a second glance to her right, would she have made out a faint outline of him, lurking in the shadows. The organ seemed daunting in the light. Running her fingers over the smooth keys, the last key under her fingers caved at her touch, vibrating the room with the chime. Beside the candle, paintings of a girl were laid out. Clara ran her fingers over the pencil indents, outlining the face. _This must be Christine. _She could see the similarities between them both, the same curly, brown hair, the same brown eyes. But Christine dripped with radiance and her, she was just normal, plain. _How can this man get the two mixed up?_

Lost in thought, she didn't hear Erik come up, beside her. When his hand picked up one of the sketches it startled her. She looked up, in fright at those glistening eyes. He briefly met her gaze. Breaking the connection, he glanced down at the paper in his hand.

"Their really good." Clara complimented.

"Yes, but theirs…something missing." Erik added, criticizing his work. "It captures the face, not the soul. Not the complete beauty." He furrowed his brow in deep concentration as he studied the painting. No words formed on Clara's lips so she stayed silent.

Louisa Giry found it odd that she could not hear the distinct howls of the pained animal below as she had for the last previous night. Afraid that Erik had hurt himself, Madame Giry decided on checking on him. Winding down the hidden staircase, an oil lamp in her hand, she hoped she was just worrying too much. If Erik had done something to hurt himself and succeeded in doing the unthinkable, she just didn't know what she would do. Of course she would blame herself. The first night, when the agony had begun, she should have been there, attempting to settle him. But she had been too frightened of what he may do. In that state, he was capable of doing anything. He was not a man of remorse for killing. Carelessly, Louisa stumbled and dropped her lamp, a load clatter echoing. In a rush, she picked up the light. A sense of awareness flooded her and she assumed Erik, if he was still among the shadows, would have heard the noise. And he had.

In a stride of his long legs, he left Clara alone. They had both heard the thunderous rattle and silently, Erik went to investigate.

Madame Giry stood as still as she possibly could awaiting Erik entrance, knowing he would come to inspect. "Erik?" She squeaked, feeling another presence.

"What are you doing here?" Erik questioned in a calm tone.

"I came to check on you." Louisa replied, bringing the light over to where she heard the voice, but no one was there. "Where are you?"

"Here." He answered with a smirk as she twirled around to come face to face with him. "And you didn't have to check on me. As you can see, Madame Giry, Erik is quite alright." And he wasn't lying. But he seemed different, almost happy in the dim light of her lamp.

"Erik, what has happened to make you look so pleased? You appear as if glowing." Louisa commented, staring him down with a questioning look.

"The greatest thing has happened to this creature. Christine has returned to him." He retorted, joyously, hopping from foot to foot in his excitement.

"Christine…has returned?" Madame Giry gulped, knowing truly where the young girl was.

"Yes. Yes. Last night. It has made me quiet happy."

"Erik, could I see her?"

"Do you not believe me, Madame?" A flicker of anger hinted in his voice.

"Of course not! It's just, I also have missed Christine since her departure." Louisa thought quickly in her response, hoping it was believable. Apparently it was since he gestured her to follow as he moved back down into the catacombs.

Impatiently, Madame Giry awaited the rise of the gate entrance into his underground domain. She could already see the faint outline of a girl who Erik had perceived as Christine. Louisa just hoped that Erik hadn't done anything to harm her. Not physically, but mentally. Erik had away of manipulating minds. The poor girl must be frightened out of her wits, being imprisoned down here with an unknown man who called her by a name different from her own.

The boat eased its way up to stone and she jumped out. The girl gazed upon Madame Giry in mystery. Quietly Madame whispered to Erik. "Could I have a little time alone with her? To catch up?" She needed to be alone with this girl. He nodded his reply as he made sure the gondola wouldn't drift away. Madame Giry took the teen lightly by the arm, ushering her back into Christine's room where they could have some privacy.

Clara sat on the bed as the woman closed the door behind her. The woman wore a black, practice skirt and she pictured her as a dancer. A long braid came down her back as she turned from her. When she swirled back to meet Clara's eyes, she could see the concern.

"What your name, darling?" She whispered, sitting next to her.

"Clara." She breathed, glad that someone didn't think her to be the other girl, Christine.

"My name's Louisa Giry. How did you get here, Clara?"

"I-I got lost." Clara stuttered out.

"Ah. And he found you. Has-has he done anything to you?" Louisa placed her hands on the young girls in a loving manner.

"No. He seems very gentle. He's quiet a sad man though." Clara replied with a frown.

"Yes, he is. And I'm afraid he has gone mad." Madame Giry seemed to be staring into space as she continued. "He thinks you to be Christine."

"Who is this Christine? He calls me by her name."

"He loved her, but-but she didn't love him. She left with another man, I believe, three days ago."

"Aw, the poor man." Clara cried out in a hushed tone.

"I agree, but he has a way of handling things wrong. He brought his own downfall." Madame Giry recalled the night of the young singer's disappearance. Clara thought to ask why he wore the mask, but she locked her lips. She didn't dare. "We need to figure out a way for you to escape."

"Escape?" Clara had been thinking of nothing but that since she got here. She wanted to go home. She wanted nothing but to smell fresh air again.

"But we can't do it too soon. He has to gain your trust. You must remember he thinks you are Christine."

"Yes." The teenager nodded. "But I don't know anything about her. How am I to pretend to be her?"

"I'll tell you everything. I've known Christine since she was a small child." And Madame Giry explained everything from the way Christine acted to her most secret habits. Clara absorbed every word that came from the woman's lips, keeping it burned in her mind. Every detail would lend her another minute of life. Louisa stood, stretching. "Now, you must make this charade believable until I strategize a perfect plan of getting away. I must leave. Be careful. The man is a puzzle. He can be the most loving man in all of France for one second and then the next, be tightening a rope around your throat. I don't mean to scare you, Clara. I just want you to be careful. I will try and return every other day. Goodbye, dear child." With a kiss on Clara's forehead and a twirl of her skirt, she was gone, out the door.

The shadows appeared to move in her room, but as Erik made himself more visible, it was only him that was moving. Clara was sitting at the makeup table, staring into the mirror at herself as he drew near. On the table was a comb that had Christine's name engraved in it, which is what Erik grabbed. Slowly he began to put the comb through her hair, delicately. But now matter how delicate, Clara couldn't help but flinch. Attempting to hide the withdraw, she picked up something from the table, faking that she was only moving to get a better look at the object. Erik seemed to believe her and she placed the item back down as he continued to comb her curls in silence.

Clara concentrated on Christine. Every move he made she would think, _What would Christine do? _Her brain buzzed and it exhausted her. And every other thought went back to Madame Giry's words of Erik's attitude. She absently put her hand to her throat. "I'm kind of tired. I think I'll retire for the night." Clara spoke, lightly, almost in a croak. She couldn't stand another moment of his presence. She was so frightened of this man now. He could kill her in an instant and there was nothing she could do about it, except distance him from her. Erik set the comb down and left the room without a word. Clara bit her lip in thought. She hoped that she hadn't hurt his feelings.

Clara laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. She couldn't close her eyes when she knew a killer was lurking behind her door. She didn't know how long it had been since she had first told him that she wanted to go to bed. Minutes…Hours. It was unknown to her when she finally did drift into slumber, but it didn't last long as she suddenly awoke. A faint noise could be heard through her door. Getting up, she opened the door to investigate. When the door was completely open she could distinctly tell it was someone crying. Knowing she should just go back to sleep, she turned to look at how inviting the bed was., but she refused it. Tiptoeing down the hall, following the muffled moaning. The noise seemed to be coming from the last door on her right, somewhere she had never been.

Shoving her fear back down inside, she turned the doorknob slowly. It easily opened at her touch. She peered into the room, keeping the door cracked so she would be almost unseen. Erik's frame could be seen in the dim light, shaking in his sobs. _Poor man.._ Before Clara could even decide what she would do next, he began to blubber. "Oh, she looks as if she does not remember me. She withers at my slightest touch! How she looks blankly at things that should bring her joyous recollection. What is wrong with my dear Christine? My name hasn't once been even whispered through her precious lips! Oh, Christine…was has happened? What have I done now?" He flew his arms against an unlit candle, throwing it into the wall. Clara jumped at the sudden noise and ran back to her room even though she should have comforted him. He was like a child. And a child such as himself needed constant comfort, which Clara was afraid to give.


End file.
